Seems Like Growing Up
by orangeiguanas4
Summary: Rachel and Kurt help Santana and Quinn move in together. One shot set in my "you got me wondering (will I burn or implode)" 'verse.


**This story takes place after the epilogue to you got me wondering (will I burn or implode). It's set in the same 'verse.**

_Seems like growing up didn't take long_

_I feel strange, I feel good_

_I feel better with you_

_- Sara Bareilles, Red_

There are few things in this world that amuse Santana more than Rachel attempting to use tools. She leans against the counter overlooking into the living room as she watches Rachel, who is currently in a staring contest with the directions. Rachel sighs before glancing back at the unassembled pieces of the new entertainment center. It's hard to suppress her laughter when Rachel begins muttering under her breath and wiping sweat from her brow, even though she hasn't actually put anything together yet.

"I love when Rachel sucks at something," Santana whispers in Quinn's ear. Quinn looks up from where she's unpacking the dishes from their nest of newspaper in one of the boxes. Quinn grins at her before looking over her shoulder at Rachel, snickering quietly at the sight. Judging by Santana's knowledge of how Rachel works after three years of living together, she figures it's only another five minutes before Rachel's tantrum begins.

Kurt emerges from the bathroom wearing elbow-length rubber gloves and carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies.

"This place is so nice! When we first moved into the loft - " Kurt starts, tugging off the gloves. Santana's waving hands cut him off.

"Shhh," she mumbles, gesturing toward where Rachel is standing in the living room, screwdriver clutched in her hand even though there's not a screw in sight. They all watch as Rachel bends over and rotates a piece, but it's obvious from across the room that it's not even close to being in the right position. Rachel stomps her foot in frustration and picks up the directions again, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to make sense of the pictures.

"Who gave her that job in the first place?" Kurt whispers, though Santana can tell that he's just as amused as she is with the situation.

"You two are horrible," Quinn scolds, smacking their shoulders lightly as she continues to watch Rachel from across the room.

Now Rachel is actually trying to screw one of the sides into place, but she manages to lose her grip on the screwdriver. It goes flying from her hand and the boards fall apart, hitting the wood floor with a resounding thud.

They all lose it simultaneously, dissolving into fits of hysterical giggles, which does nothing but fuel Rachel's anger and frustration. She straightens up, tugging at the hem of her pink tank top that's adamantly clinging to every sweaty curve. Santana has to admit that Rachel is all kinds of adorable when she's annoyed.

"If you don't want my help, I'll go back home where there's working air conditioning and no need for hard labor!"

As if on cue, the diva tantrum begins. Rachel isn't one to disappoint in any facet of life.

"The loft's air conditioning is essentially the equivalent to a fan blowing someone's fart right into your face," Santana reminds her. It does seem to pull all of the disgusting smells of Brooklyn directly into the apartment whenever someone turns it on. Usually they just tried to power through without turning on the ancient air conditioner, which meant the summer months involved many run-ins with Rachel's lack of boundaries, causing her to experience Santana's lack of clothes.

"At least I won't have to listen to the two of you having sex anymore!" Rachel retorts pointing between Santana and Quinn frantically. "You're not as quiet as you think!"

Of course, this just makes Santana laugh harder; Rachel did possess a certain knack for arriving home just as things were getting heated. The privacy curtain at least kept her from getting an eyeful most of the time, but Santana learned quickly how sound reverberated off of the solid brick walls from having to listen to Rachel run her scales every damn morning. Getting alone time in the loft was nearly impossible for any of them, though Kurt and Santana had learned the art of wearing noise-cancelling headphones when the other had a guest. However, Rachel had obviously missed that memo.

"Oh, I never thought for a second that we were quiet," Santana teases. "But it's nothing compared to the noises Kurt and I endured when you brought home that backup dancer from Pippin. I thought you had converted to Christianity with the way you were praising Jesus."

Kurt starts howling with laughter, doubling over and clutching at his side. Rachel's face is so red that it's verging on purple as she stutters, a quick-witted comeback failing her.

"Leave her alone," Quinn pipes up, and Rachel stands up a little taller, excited to hear Quinn scold Kurt and Santana on her behalf. "We all know that she's less maintenance when she's getting laid regularly."

Again Rachel's pout returns and she crosses her arms over her chest as she glares at all of them crowded in the kitchen. Despite living with Santana for three years, she still isn't any good at being the punch line of their jokes.

"How about some lemonade and then I'll help you with that entertainment center?" Kurt offers, changing the subject before Rachel storms out altogether. She doesn't acknowledge him, but accepts the glass when he delivers it to her nonetheless.

Quinn and Santana follow him and they perch on the edges of the boxes leaning against the drop cloth covered couch.

"The loft is going to feel different without you," Rachel admits, avoiding Santana's eyes.

Santana is excited about this step - living in Manhattan with Quinn - while she finishes up her senior year of college. But not living with Kurt and Rachel is definitely going to be weird after all they've been through together. They're her best friends, and she knows that she would have never lasted a month in New York without them all those years ago. Plus, it's going to be hard not being able to collapse onto Rachel's bed when she wants to rant about her frustrations, or forcing Kurt to get up early with her when a marathon of Golden Girls is on. She's going to miss them, but she'll never actually admit that.

"My god, you're acting like we're moving to _New Jersey_," Santana responds, the distaste for the state she's never even visited dripping from her tongue. "It's just an extra two subway stops up from your show," she soothes, as much for herself as it is for Rachel.

Rachel still looks devastated, and Santana feels for her. Kurt's new boyfriend, Jeffrey, has practically been living in the loft for the past month or so and Santana reckons that it's only a matter of time before the two of them move into their own place as well.

"We have studio time on Thursday," Santana reminds her. "You can't escape me that easily when I'm the one producing your single."

It's not the same and Santana knows it. Working together doesn't even begin to compare to nights on the couch fighting over what movie to watch while she pretended to hate vegan Thai food, despite actually loving it.

Quinn's hand comes to rest on her thing, and Santana is instantly reminded of why she's taking this step. She loves Quinn. This is real, and she doesn't want it to ever slip away from her again.

"We should finish up," Kurt reminds them. "I'm sure you ladies will want some alone time tonight, but your bed is still in about ten pieces."

He's right, and Santana sucks down the last gulp of her lemonade before they disperse throughout the apartment again.

By sunset, they're all sweaty and dirty, but the living room has furniture that doesn't look like it is going to collapse any second, the bed is assembled, and the kitchen is functional enough that they can find glasses and plates before settling in around the coffee table to eat pizza and drink wine together.

The cable isn't set up yet and Santana has no idea where her iPod dock is buried in the mounds of boxes that still are stacked haphazardly in the corners of the room, but the lack of background entertainment is quickly forgotten as they eat. Instead, they share stories and laugh together, the way only old friends can.

Rachel and Kurt mumble a lame excuse to head out shortly after dinner, but Santana appreciates them understanding that she's ready for some alone time with Quinn in their new place. She hugs them both tightly and denies that there are tears in her eyes when Kurt teases her. Quinn thanks them graciously for all of their hard work and promises them that they'll all get together before she starts her new classes in a few weeks, but soon enough the door closes behind their retreating backs and they're left in the apartment by themselves for the first time.

"Do you think there's going to be enough room to squeeze a dining table over by the bookcases?" Quinn asks her, nose scrunching as she squints at the far corner of the room, obviously picturing the setup.

"That's really what you're concerned with at this moment? We have an apartment with solid walls and no roommates, but you want to discuss table options? Geez, sometimes I really have no idea how we coexist in the same universe."

"And what is it that you're suggesting, dear?"

The corners of Quinn's mouth twitch in amusement as she watches Santana's face heat up. Despite how bold Santana is with her insults, she's still horrible at verbalizing her heart's desires.

Santana is one to respond with actions because words never seem to be able to convey what it is that she feels. But right now, her feet feel cemented to the hardwood floor of their new living room, keeping her from moving into Quinn's embrace.

Part of her wants to slap the smirk off of Quinn's cocky face - and thinking back to their prior interactions, that might be a major turn on - but the larger part of her just wants to feel Quinn's warmth against her as they stare at the ceiling of their new bedroom, lost in their thoughts about what is to come.

Quinn sidles back across the room, her hands jammed into the back pockets of her shorts, her hair falling out of its messy bun and into her eyes. She's glowing - at least it seems that way to Santana in the soft incandescent glow of the lamp. The apartment seems so quiet compared to the Bushwick loft, and it almost feels eerie how the silence hangs heavily in the air surrounding them.

She's known Quinn for eight years, and they've been dating for a solid two of them, yet Santana can feel the prickling of her nerves as Quinn reaches out for her waist to pull her closer. They have done this dance a million times since that fateful night in the hotel room, but her heart is pounding so hard in her chest as Quinn's fingers find the hem of her tank top and start to pull it upwards.

Santana complies, lifting her hands over her head until the sweaty material can be pulled away from her skin. There's no rush this time, no time limit before roommates are expected home or before Quinn needs to head to class. They have all night. They have the rest of their lives.

Somehow that thought helps calm Santana while simultaneously terrifying her.

The thrill of racing the clock is gone and she's left with nothing but her feelings, her indescribable love for the woman standing before her.

She wants to flip off the light and hide away from Quinn's probing gaze. She wants to bury in teeth into the flesh of Quinn's neck and thrust her fingers into Quinn, pushing her to the edge in a fit of passion that she's learned so well.

That kind of fucking makes her feel safe, like Quinn hasn't infiltrated every inch of her being.

"Why are you so tense?" Quinn prods gently, letting her hands find Santana's waist again and lightly stroking the skin.

Santana shrugs and tries to swallow all of her conflicting feelings at once. Quinn deserves someone that can handle this kind of commitment, someone who craves the chance to get to love every curve and scar of Quinn's body under the bright lights of their new living room. She deserves someone that constantly hides away from the terror that feelings bring her, the stinging remarks that she uses to hide how she really feels.

Quinn knows her better than anybody else. She knows that Quinn gets exactly why she's so tense.

"I feel disgusting from lugging boxes around all day," Quinn tells her conversationally. "I think a hot bath sounds perfect."

Santana nods dumbly at her. She's pushing Quinn away and they've only been living together alone for half an hour.

Quinn walks down the hallway and stops into the bedroom to grab a pile of towels. She emerges again and pauses in the hallway, looking at Santana expectantly.

"Are you joining?" Quinn asks, though Santana can hear from her tone that it's not so much a question as it is a pleading request.

Their tub is small. To be honest, she's not even sure that the two of them could fit in it with any semblance of comfort, but she finds herself padding down the hallway toward Quinn anyway.

Quinn turns on the tap and starts filling the tub. She rummages through the new cabinets and finds some bubble bath that she drops in before she starts stripping her clothes. Santana follows her lead, tugging her shorts down her legs and pulling her bra slowly down the plane of her shoulders and off of her arms. She leaves them in a sloppy pile on the tiled floor of the bathroom and slips into the water quickly, submerging into the heat.

She can't help but watch Quinn as she undresses slowly, folding her clothes neatly and perching them on the edge of the sink. She turns off the tap and moves the towels towards the side of the tub before plunging a foot into the soapy water behind Santana's back.

It's a tight fit and takes some finagling, but eventually she's able to rest against the edge of the tub. Santana leans back into her, her back pressing intimately against Quinn's front.

Quinn's arms wrap around her and hold her close as she hums a song softly under her breath.

The hot water and scented bubbles give Santana no choice but to relax. Her anxiety about the evening slowly melts away and her exhausted body releases the tension. She closes her eyes and lets her head fall into the crook of Quinn's neck.

By the time she opens her eyes again, the water is lukewarm at best and the bubbles have dissipated. Quinn shifts as Santana pulls away and reaches for a towel on the floor beside her.

She dries off while Quinn starts draining the tub and she throws her clothes into the hamper in the corner before turning to help Quinn into her towel. Quinn feels cool from the air on her wet skin and Santana lets her hands linger even once the towel has been wrapped around Quinn's torso.

Before she has a chance to react, Quinn spins towards her and locks her hand behind Santana's neck, pulling her close. Santana drops her towel in surprise and goose bumps erupt along her damp skin, but she doesn't hesitate to meet Quinn's parted lips with her own.

Quinn kisses her back, her mouth devastatingly warm in contrast with Santana's cold body. It makes Santana shiver and Quinn uses her free arm to pull Santana into her, their bodies flush with just Quinn's towel as a barrier between their bare breasts.

All of Santana's earlier anxiety is gone, and she lets herself react to Quinn's movements with her body. She doesn't think about it; she knows Quinn's body almost as well as she knows her own by now. It's easy to get lost in the softness of Quinn and forget about how permanent their new arrangement is.

Her hand tangles in Quinn's hair and she tilts Quinn's head back so that she can kiss the blonde's neck.

Quinn groans as Santana's teeth drag along her flesh and Santana can't help the smile that finds its way onto her lips. She nips at Quinn's neck and soothes the spot with a swirl of her tongue. Quinn's hand tightens at the base of Santana's neck, her nails digging into skin and urging her on.

Santana wants Quinn writhing beneath her. She wants to pull those breathy sighs from Quinn's throat with every movement. Part of her is tempted to pull Quinn to the cold tile of the bathroom floor, but it's cramped, and while she may not be the most thoughtful, romantic person on the face of the planet, she feels like their first time in their very own, grown-up apartment should be a little classier than that.

It's almost as though Quinn can read her thoughts - though, to be fair, Quinn does know which way she's going to move based on a quiver of her lip - and she's unsurprised when Quinn pulls away slightly, putting a few inches of space between their torsos.

They communicate without actually speaking and Santana doesn't bother to gather her towel off of the floor before following Quinn across the hall.

Their bed is made, even though the rest of the room is still pretty much packed in boxes. Santana doesn't even notice the new comforter set that they picked out together in Macy's last week because Quinn unwraps her towel from her body and tosses it to the side before crawling back onto the bed, summoning Santana with nothing more than a sultry gaze.

Santana's mouth goes dry at the sight of Quinn sprawled against the dark blue material and she knows she's shamelessly staring, but it's impossible not to when Quinn is so flawlessly beautiful. It's dark in their room - Quinn didn't bother to hit the light switch on her way into the room - but Santana's eyes adjust quickly and she wastes no time crawling onto the bed next to Quinn, her feet hanging off the edge as she stretches her limbs.

Quinn rolls onto her side and kisses Santana's cheek with calm reverence, her hand draping over the curve of Santana's hip. Her lips move down the plane of Santana's jaw, each kiss barely lingering, leaving Santana's skin wishing for more contact.

The feather light touches make her shiver and she feels Quinn smile against her collarbone. Quinn's pace is infuriatingly slow as she rolls Santana onto her back. It's been months since they've had a room to themselves long enough to take their time and Quinn is making up for lost time. Santana can't help the way that her breath catches in her throat every time Quinn's lips tease her skin and her heart is racing beneath Quinn's exploring hands across her chest. She feels it thud hard against her sternum again and again as Quinn traces the valley between her breasts with a single fingertip as she descends on Santana's lips.

It takes more self-control than Santana even knew she possessed to not speed up the kiss. She forces herself to stay at the pace Quinn is setting and she grips at Quinn's shoulder blades as the blonde hovers above her. Quinn's tongue moves languidly against hers, the movement slow and reverent.

Santana can't remember the last time that she simply kissed for this long. It's torture, the way her whole body is burning with desire, but there's something incredibly sexy about the way that Quinn is exploring her body, hands wandering over each curve like she's trying to commit them to memory.

She feels vulnerable and cut open, like her breathy moans into Quinn's mouth can expose exactly how very deeply in love she is. She whines as Quinn circles the edge of her nipple with the pad of her forefinger, the skin tightening under the touch, but not giving in to the way Santana wants to be touched.

Quinn has bigger plans than mind-blowing orgasms. This isn't about christening their new apartment with rough sex in every room. Every single movement reminds Santana that this is the beginning of their life together, that they are growing into one another in ways that the distance had never let them do before.

Santana lets her hands wander over Quinn's skin, massaging the muscles of her back, tracing the scars along the left side of her abdomen. It's a body that she's had the chance to study for years now, but she's amazed at how every time still feels new, like there is uncharted territory that needs to be mapped. She tries to memorize every freckle, every small perfect imperfection.

She has no idea how much time has passed, but she can feel Quinn's arms quivering with the stress of trying to hold her body weight above Santana. Santana nudges her gently back onto the bed and she hears Quinn sigh in the comfort of the mattress beneath her.

It gives her the opportunity to finally worship Quinn the way she's been craving since they got out of the bath and she dips her head to kiss Quinn's lips once, before moving south, kissing a path down past Quinn's collarbones and along the swell of her breast.

Her hands move lower, massaging Quinn's thigh, tickling her hipbone. Quinn squirms under her touch and Santana has to pin her down with her own legs to keep Quinn still as she lets her tongue dart down to swirl around a hard nipple.

The sound Quinn makes as a result is completely intoxicating, and Santana has to remind herself to breathe as her own desire rushes between heatedly through her abdomen. She slides back until she's lying flush on Quinn, her thigh pushing Quinn's legs apart. She grinds down into Quinn as her tongue continues to move purposefully around Quinn's nipple. Quinn sighs, her breaths short and erratic as she presses up into Santana's thigh, desperate for more.

Santana can feel Quinn's wetness coating her leg and she grows increasingly impatient. She fits her hand between them and gathers it on her fingers, avoiding touching Quinn where she knows her girlfriend so desperately needs her to. Quinn's hips fight against Santana's weight, adamantly pushing up against her.

Santana can only deny her for so long before she sweeps a finger up Quinn's slit and rubs slow circles around her clit. Quinn groans and threads her fingers through Santana's hair, tugging on it.

She needs to kiss Quinn, to taste her on her tongue and swallow the melody of her moans that fill the otherwise quiet bedroom. As soon as their lips meet, she presses into Quinn with two fingers. Her heart leaps at the way Quinn clings to her as her body trembles from the sensation.

Santana moves slowly at first, her fingers slowly stretching Quinn as their mouths collide, too unfocused for any finesse. As Quinn relaxes under her touch, Santana speeds up, burying her fingers deep inside, only to be dragged out again. Her knuckles press against between her own legs every time she pulls out and she grinds against them shamelessly, pushing herself to the edge along with Quinn.

She knows her own hips are moving erratically and she tries to keep her thumb rubbing tight circles against Quinn's clit so they can finish together. Quinn reaches up and pinches her nipples, rolling the hard buds between her fingers that cause a jolt of electricity to pulse through Santana's body.

Their teeth crash together as they try to maintain their kiss, and Santana can feel her body spiraling out of control. She does everything she can to keep her hand moving for Quinn's sake as her own muscles begin to tighten, rushing towards the precipice.

Quinn sucks in a hot breath and her head rolls to the side, breaking the kiss and Santana can sense how close she is. It takes everything in her to hold off her own orgasm until Quinn tightens around her fingers and then lets go with a low groan. Santana falls right beside her, her body barely holding up her weight as she helps Quinn ride it out. Finally, she rolls off to Quinn's side, her breathing labored and her body tired, but relaxed.

Quinn snuggles into her side, and Santana is happy to let her slip beneath her arm so that she can hold Quinn against her. It's been a long day of moving and she should want to just fall asleep, but she just wants to be here with Quinn, even if it's in complete silence.

Even a year ago, Santana couldn't imagine that this would be her life. New York always felt like a pipe dream, even as she lived in Bushwick. She's not famous. She's not performing on a big stage every night like Rachel, she's not a junior editor at Vogue like Kurt, she's not recording singles in L.A. like Mercedes. By her high school standards, she's been anything but successful.

Yet Quinn is sighing softly as she lazily runs her hands over the plane of Santana's stomach, and Santana can't help but feel like she's way more successful than she could have ever imagined. She has some of the best friends in the world. She has a major that she loves and a future that feels bright. But more than anything, she has found someone that makes her believe in love again, someone who makes her believe in herself, someone who will never let her settle for anything less than the best.

She has Quinn, and that's more than she ever thought she deserved.

She wakes up the next morning, her neck stiff and her mouth dry. Quinn is missing from the bed, so Santana untangles herself from blankets and follows the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Quinn is standing there in nothing more than a Yale t-shirt and Santana can't help but stare at how beautiful this woman is, with her messy blonde hair and perfectly shaped legs and her easy confidence.

Quinn didn't hear her enter, but she laughs loudly as she stares down at Santana's phone that was left abandoned on the counter last night.

"What's so funny?" Santana asks her, rummaging through the cabinets for a mug. Quinn manages to find one without even looking up from the phone and hands it Santana as she begins reading from the screen.

"God help me, Santana, I am going to kill you for leaving me here with only her." Quinn chuckles again. "That's only the beginning of the saga Kurt sent you about Rachel."

"Oh, as if he didn't know she's high maintenance," Santana replies with no sympathy for him. She knew that Rachel would be negotiating for more space and shower time from the second Santana announced that she was moving out.

"Did you expect her to nurse a bottle of wine and sob about missing you on the middle of your barren bedroom?"

Santana nearly chokes on the scalding hot coffee at that mental image. Rachel has never taken change well and Santana can recall dozens of times over the past few years where she'd have to coax a wine glass out of Rachel's hand as she began to sob over missing her dads, or leaving a role for a better one, or having a friend move away for a new job offer. She's always been the one there to roll her eyes at how ridiculously emotional Rachel tended to be, but she was also the one there distracting her until Rachel regained her focus on life.

It's Kurt's turn now, and Santana has a pang of guilt about being the cause of it this time.

She doesn't respond to Quinn's question, but she takes the phone from Quinn's hand and skims through the huge influx of messages that came throughout the night from Kurt. She misses them and she tightens her grip on her phone, like somehow they'll know she's trying to hold them close.

"Feel like taking a ride out to Bushwick this afternoon?" Quinn inquires. Santana knows exactly what she's trying to do, and she loves her a little bit more for it.

"And leave this quiet apartment where I get to have my girlfriend walking around practically naked?" Santana retorts, though she knows that she's doing a crappy job of hiding her feelings.

"I just thought that you might want a burger from your favorite little diner," Quinn muses with a smile. Santana abandons her coffee and phone on the counter and steps into Quinn, her stomach filling with butterflies when Quinn embraces her and kisses her forehead.

Deep down, she knows that every day is not going to be this simple. Once classes start up, they'll be lucky to find five minutes of peace together, never mind a whole morning that doesn't require getting dressed.

Bushwick isn't far and she can go whenever she wants. Rachel will survive without her. It seems like growing up, and while that's scary as hell, she sort of likes it.


End file.
